


i do it all because i'm pretty when i cry

by lonelyheartsclub_com



Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29332551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelyheartsclub_com/pseuds/lonelyheartsclub_com
Summary: alfred cheng is falling down a rabbit hole of dangerous habits, and harold cannot stand to see it transpire any longer.
Relationships: Alfred Cheng & Harold Mukherjee
Kudos: 8





	i do it all because i'm pretty when i cry

**Author's Note:**

> tw // suicide, meds, depression, ptsd, survivor's guilt, slight alcohol abuse

Harold stared at Alfred.

He knocked back another drink, and then he smiled at Harold. As if he couldn't see how concerned Harold was for him. As if he wasn't just...casually drinking far too much, wasn't just casually taking more meds than he should. Harold wanted to cry and hug Alfred all the same. Everything Alfred did was for a reason, and he must've been spiraling for a reason. The question was: what? What made Alfred feel the need to go back to alcohol, back to abusing his barbiturates?

"Alright, Harold? You've been staring at me weirdly. I don't like it." he said outright, lighting a cigarette. 

Harold took the cigarette out of his mouth. He had received a letter from his father, and Mangaldas had been doing studies into people who smoked. He said he suspected that it was terrible for one's body truly, and Harold couldn't say he was shocked. 

"What was that for?" he hissed. 

"Alf, walk with me. We need to talk." he said sternly, and Alfred faltered for a second, before standing up. 

"Whatever. Does it include an explanation for why you took my cig?" he asked, and Harold shrugged.

Maudlin was beautiful at this time in the spring, the leaves starting to live again, the flowers starting to bloom. Alfred stared at it apathetically, clearly bored.

"What's wrong with you, Harold? You've been acting off all week. Has something transpired between you and Wells? An argument, perhaps?" Alfred really couldn't tell. He couldn't tell that Harold was this close to keeping a eye on him at all times of the day, couldn't tell that Harold was concerned. 

"Bertie and I are fine, Alf. It's you I'm worried about." he responded, putting a hand on Alfred's shoulder. 

Alfred Cheng was a cold type of person. He did not like people trying to figure him out, or trying to help him, and that was precisely what Harold was trying to do. He drew away from Harold, frowning. 

"I'm fine, Mukherjee. No need to-"

"You are not. You aren't fine, Alf. Don't lie to me - I'm not a fool. Why are you drinking so much? I saw you taking 4 of your pills yesterday, and the day before, and your dosage hasn't been upped. What's going on, Alfred? Talk to me, _please_."

"Nothing! I'm just...stressed and upset. Alcohol tends to help with that, as do the meds." he said finally, beginning to walk away. 

"Alfred. I could hear you crying last night. You don't cry as softly or as quietly as you'd think." Harold called, and he stopped dead in his tracks. 

"Fuck you. You don't know anything-" he started coldly, pulling away from Harold again. Harold dug bloody half moons into his palms, willing himself not to cry. 

"Alfred, please. What happened to you and I, hm? Best friends?" he asked, and Alfred sighed. 

"Come on. We're going up to my rooms if we're to discuss this any further." he hissed bitterly, and Harold followed him. Alfred slammed the door shut, and Harold noticed the taller boy taking sharper breaths, ones that sounded like little sobs. 

He would've never thought he'd ever see Alfred Cheng cry. Nor did he ever think it would hurt to hear the sobs that much. 

Harold sat down in a red leather seat, shrugging his blazer off. Comfortingly, he urged, "Go on, Alfred. You can tell me when you're ready. I'm not here to judge you."

Alfred sat down opposite him, and looked him in the eye for just a moment, which was rather out of character for him, seeing as he hated eye contact. His lower lip trembled slightly, and he looked down at the floor. 

"Oh, _Alfred_..." Harold mumbled, standing up to give him a tight hug. Alfred clutched onto him tightly. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be bothering you with this."

"I asked, Alf. And I just want to know why things are going rough, so I can help you out." He reassured, brushing Alfred's messy black mop of hair out of his eyes. Alfred gave a dry smile. "What's going on, Alfred? I just hate to see you like this, hate to see you self destruct-"

Alfred's smile dropped. 

"Self destruct?" he muttered, and Harold knew he'd said something wrong. 

"My parents truly were right, then." he muttered, walking over to the other side of the room, for a bottle of whiskey he had. 

"Don't, Alfred. They weren't right, and I'll tell you that every day until you die."

"Which, hopefully, won't be that far away." he called out, and Harold walked over to where he stood and took the bottle of alcohol. 

"You can't keep doing this. Please, just cut the alcohol off. Just for a while? If not for you, for me?" he begged, holding it out of Alfred's reach. He sighed irritably and frowned. 

"Fine. I don't care." he said coldly, and Harold breathed a slight sigh of relief.

"Alfred. Look at me." he said harshly, and Alfred turned to face him. "Why, Alf - why on earth are you so determined to destroy yourself? You have this desire to die, and it's stronger than that of Bertie's, or Henry's. Why? What's so bad that you feel the need to do this to yourself?" Harold asked, searching Alfred's expression for a trace of something, fucking _anything._

Nothing.

Harold would admit, he had been a bit harsh. But he just needed an answer.

"I may be self sabotaging. I may be a failure that's going to be dead before 25. You and I both know it, don't look at me that way. But at least I'm pretty when I cry. And I'll be pretty when I die." he finished finally, downing the last of his alcohol and walking out of his rooms. and leaving Harold alone to sigh irritably.

Alfred Cheng was so fucking stubborn.

"Fuck's sake, Alfred! Get back here!" he shouted, slamming the door shut after walking out.

Alfred was slumped against the door of Harold's rooms, and he was crying. Harold's anger quickly diffused. 

"'M so sorry, Harold. I just don't want to be here anymore."

"Where, Cambridge?"

"No. Alive. I don't...want to live." he looked at Harold, as if he were ashamed. 

_Oh._

Harold felt a surge of terror grip him.

"Alfred. If you'd like, we can try something that might help?"

"And what would that be?" he looked up at Harold. 

"I'll give you reasons why you shouldn't. Shouldn't off yourself, that is."

"I'm all ears."

And so there they sat in Harold's rooms, and Harold could feel himself dozing off. He did have one last thing to say to Alfred, and he could feel his best friend starting to fall asleep too.

"Alfred," Harold slurred, turning to face his best friend. "You want to know the final reason why you shouldn't?" Alfred looked up at him with piqued interest. "Because I love you like a brother." and his lower lip trembled. "I don't want you to leave me. So please don't. Please?"

Alfred gave it a moment, silence passing between the two. "For now." he could see Alfred holding back tears too. "But I don't think I can hold on forever. It's far too long, and I'm not strong enough."

"And that's ok, Alfred. Just...let me help you. Let us help you, Henry, Bertie, Manda and I. You aren't isolated, nor should you have to face these kind of thoughts on your own."

"Then I won't. Thank you, Harold."

"Don't thank me, idiot. Just get some sleep."


End file.
